But at the thought of such iniquity, And so much wretchedness, had shuddering wept, And careless went to her own babes again— THE SUGAR-PLUMS. No, no, pretty sugar-plums! stay where you are! For the poor slaves have labour'd, far down in the south, Perhaps some poor slave child, that hoed up the ground, And I'm sure I want nobody beaten for me. So grandma, I thank you for being so kind, Thus said little Fanny, and skipp'd off to play, And she had not cared for the slaves of the south. OH PRESS ME NOT TO TASTE AGAIN. Он press me not to taste again Of those luxurious banquet sweets! Or hide from view the dark red stain, Away! 'tis loathsome! bear me hence! No, never let me taste again Of aught beside the coarsest fare, LOOKING AT THE SOLDIERS. "MOTHER, the trumpets are sounding to-day, "Do you see how their bayonets gleam in the sun, "This, mother, you know, is a glorious day, But you "No, love; for that shining and brilliant display, To me only tells of war's fearful array; And I know that those bayonets, flashing so bright, "And the music that swells up so sweet to the ear, "Our country, my boy, as you tell me, is free, For less guilt would be hers, were her own fetter'd hand Unable to loosen her slaves from their band. "We joy that our country's light bonds have been broke, "Even 'midst these triumphant rejoicings, to-day, "Can you wonder then, love, that your mother is sad, TO A STRANGER. I KNOW thee not, young maiden, yet I know that there must be Around that heart of thine, sweet ties of clinging sympathy; Dwell'st thou not 'midst thy childhood's hours, a loved and loving one, Around whose path affection's light hath ever sunshine thrown? A sister's arm is round thee twined, perchance, oh deeply blest! Then blame me not, that I should seek, although I know not thee, warm. It is for those who wildly mourn o'er many a broken tie, hand, The wrong'd, the wretched, the enslaved, in freedom's chosen land. Oh, lady! when a sister's cry is ringing on the air, When woman's pleading eye is raised in agonized despair, When woman's limbs are scourged and sold 'midst rude and brutal mirth, And all affection's holiest ties are trampled to the earth, May female hearts be still unstirr'd, and 'midst their wretched lot, The victims of unmeasured wrongs be carelessly forgot? Or shall the prayer be pour'd for them, the tear be freely given, Until the chains, that bind them now, from every limb be riven? SLAVE PRODUCE. EAT! they are cates for a lady's lip, Rich as the sweets that the wild bees sip; List thee, lady! and turn aside, With a loathing heart, from the feast of pride; Look! they are robes from a foreign loom, Yet fling them off from thy shrinking limb, LITTLE SADO'S STORY. Robert Sutcliff, in his book of travels in America, relates the incident which has suggested the following lines. Little Sado was an African boy, who was rescued from a slave-ship by a United States' frigate, and provided by the Pennsylvania Abolition Society with a home, in a respectable family, near Philadelphia. 66 Although tended with the greatest tenderness," says Sutcliff, "yet he was often seen weeping at the recollection of his near connexions. He said that himself and sister were on a visit, at a relation's, and that after the family had retired to rest, they were suddenly alarmed at the dead of night, by a company of man-stealers breaking into their habitation. They were all carried off towards the sea, where they arrived at the end of three days, and were confined until the vessel sailed. "Not long after this negro boy had been brought into S. P.'s family, he was taken ill of a bad fever; and for a time there appeared but little hopes of his recovery, although the best medical help was obtained, and every kindness and attention shown him. "There being now scarcely any prospect of his recovery, his mistress was desirous of administering some religious consolation, and observed to him, as he had always been a very good boy, she had no doubt that if he died at this time, his spirit would be admitted into a state of eternal rest and peace. On hearing this he quickly replied, ‘I know that if I die, I shall be happy; for as soon as my body is dead, my spirit shall fly away to my father and mother and sisters and brothers in Africa.' The boy recovered. His good conduct had gained the favour and respect of the whole family, and I have no doubt that the care bestowed upon his education, will in due time afford him a brighter prospect of a future state than that of returning to Africa." "WHY weep'st thou, gentle boy? Is not thy lot And I would have thee happy. Is there aught |